


Rosslyn

by popculturehoe



Series: Magnetic [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Blood, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e01 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 1, Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen: Part 2, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Secret Crush, Shooting, crush on a friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popculturehoe/pseuds/popculturehoe
Summary: “Who else was shot? Was it someone on his staff?” She feared the answer. She heard Paul breathe on the other side of the phone. “They said someone else was shot.”“This doesn’t leave this phone conversation,” he started. “Josh, Josh Lyman was the other person who was shot.”Sara dropped her ice cream, the green liquid splattering and the ceramic bowl splintering into large chunks when it fell onto the floor. Her stomach turned, her heart began to race, she felt like she was going to be sick.
Series: Magnetic [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752097
Kudos: 9





	1. Somebody's Going to Emergency

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me forever to write, I'm so happy it's finally done and I can post it! I hope it's good and does the anguish and drama of the actual episode justice. Enjoy and please leave some kudos or a comment! :) 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song "New York Minute" by Don Henley.

In less than thirty seconds, the area outside of the Newseum had turned into a war zone. Sirens blaring, people screaming, ambulances and police cars showed up seemingly out of nowhere. EMTs attended to the President’s staff and reporters that had come from the White House, checking over everyone they could get their hands on.

“Are you CJ Cregg?” One of them asked the Press Secretary.

“Yeah, yes,” she replied.

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

“It’s still Monday.” Her head was throbbing a bit. It must have happened when that person threw her to the ground. She still had no idea who _that person_ was.

“Okay CJ, you’re more shaken up than anything else. I don’t think you’re gonna need stitches, but you should find somewhere to lie down.”

Lie down? At a time like this? She thought. That was the last thing she wanted and needed to do right now. Her mind was racing; where the hell was the President, and where were Sam, Josh, and Toby for that matter?

“Is the President dead?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He walked away to tend to another person.

She turned and gasped in spite of herself when Sam appeared next to her.

“You alright?” He asked, his voice devoid of its usual bright tone and chipperness. She could tell he was just as shaken up and nervous as she was.

“What?” She asked frantically, unable to hear him clearly over all the noise.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, his voice louder this time.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she told him. “Where is the President?”

“He’s on his way back to the White House, so is Zoey. They put Leo and Josh in a car behind him.” He looked at the piece of gauze in her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“Someone pulled me down, pushed me out of the way. I’m fine, really.”

“It was me,” he admitted. “You were the closest person to me. As soon as I heard the shots, my instincts kicked in I guess.”

“Well, thank you, Sam.” She put the gauze back on her head and he looked away, almost embarrassed. “I owe you one.”

Toby was dazed, whether it was from all the commotion or because he was hurt, he wasn’t sure yet. He hadn’t been checked over by any of the EMTs but he felt fine, at least physically. Mentally was a whole other story. He looked around, searching for Josh. He hadn’t seen him since everything happened.

“Josh?” He called out, making his way through the crowds. “Josh?” He saw Charlie pass by him. Charlie probably knew where Josh was. “Charlie, have you seen Josh?”

“Are you okay?” The younger man asked. Leave it to Charlie to always be putting others before himself.

“Yeah,” he answered distractedly. “Have you seen Josh?”

“He got in the car with Leo.” He gestured towards the street.

“No, no he didn’t.” He cut him off. “Shanahan got in with Leo, Josh didn’t get in the car.” He turned around and walked some more, continuing to search for the Deputy Chief of Staff. Suddenly he saw the back of Josh’s head. He was sitting up against a half wall, probably hiding from all of the chaos. “Josh?” He didn’t move, and Toby ran closer. “Josh! You didn’t hear me shouting for you?”

He turned the corner, finally face to face with him. Josh only looked up at him, a blank look in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were covered in dark red blood. Toby almost fainted right there.

Sara had just returned to her apartment after her nightly run. She preferred to go out in the evenings rather than early in the morning or during the day; it was quieter at night, the streets of DC were a lot less congested and chaotic then. Running was her one outlet, it was her alone time, and it gave her a chance to think about the day’s events or whatever was stressing her out at the moment, and to work through it. Currently, she was thinking a lot about her brother, Colm, who was graduating from Northeastern University in a few weeks’ time. With her schedule and deadlines for the Press Corps, she wasn’t sure she would be able to make it up to Boston for the graduation ceremony. She was dreading having to tell her family.

After taking a shower, she padded out into the living room of her apartment, heading to the freezer to get some ice cream. She was scooping some mint chocolate chip into a bowl when her cell phone rang. Opening the phone with one hand, holding the scooper in the other, she said, “Hello?”

“Turn on the TV,” it was her boss, Paul. She walked into the living room, leaving her ice cream on the counter, and sat down on the couch.

“What channel?” She asked, her voice laced with confusion.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her solemnly. “Something’s happened at the Newseum.”

She grabbed the remote off of the coffee table and flipped on channel 4, the local NBC news affiliate. B-roll of police cars, ambulances, and EMTs running with stretchers flashed across the screen. Then a news anchor came on.

“I’m here at the Newseum in Rosslyn, where President Bartlet gave a speech at the Live Town Hall Meeting,” the man said. Sirens and the whirring of helicopter blades could be heard and people could be seen running around behind him. It was absolute chaos. His voice was even-keeled, but it was obvious from the look in his eye that he was distressed. “Just thirty minutes ago, there were shots fired at President Bartlet when he and his staff were leaving an event here. The perpetrators were located in an office building across the street, but authorities do not know the identity of them as of yet.” 

Sara’s stomach turned. There were so many people at that event, who knows how many of them could have been injured or even killed. She went back into the kitchen to get her ice cream, which didn’t even look appetizing anymore, but she ate some anyway as it went to a commercial. Several minutes later, the news anchor appeared on the screen again.

“I’m Henry Goodman with NBC 4 Washington, here at the Newseum in Rosslyn. I’ve been given clearance to report that President Bartlet, along with one other person, have been injured in the shooting that occurred here tonight. He is being taken to George Washington General to receive treatment for his injuries.” He paused. “I’m also being told that all airports are being shut down,” the anchor said, holding two of his fingers to his ear. “All of the airports are being shut down until the suspect, or suspects, are found.”

She picked up her cellphone and called Paul back. She had completely forgotten she was on the phone with him; she didn’t even remember hanging up. “What the hell is going on?”

“You’re watching the news, aren’t you?” He asked incredulously.

“The President’s been shot!” She cried. “Was it an assassination attempt, was it an attempt at a terrorist attack, was he just in the line of fire-“

“We don’t know,” Paul told her honestly, cutting her off. “There’s going to be a press conference when CJ gets back from the hospital.”

“Was she hurt?”

“As far as I know, no. The AP already released a statement saying that two bodies were taken from the scene, one of them being the President.”

“Who else was shot? Was it someone on his staff?” She feared the answer. She heard Paul breathe on the other side of the phone. “They said someone else was shot.”

“This doesn’t leave this phone conversation,” he started. “Josh, Josh Lyman was the other person who was shot.”

Sara dropped her ice cream, the green liquid splattering and the ceramic bowl splintering into large chunks when it fell onto the floor. Her stomach turned, her heart began to race, she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Sara?” She heard Paul’s voice on the other end of the phone, bringing her back to reality. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just… dropped something.” She took a few shaky breaths, trying to steady herself, but it wasn’t helping. “Josh Lyman and the President? Are they… dead?” The last word came out in barely a whisper.

“No, but that’s all we know right now,” he told her. “I would get down here as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving now.” She hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Turning back towards her TV, she felt the tears begin to well in her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks.

**********

She couldn’t remember the last time she drove that fast. The drive from her apartment to the White House was a blur, all she could think about was Josh. She had no idea how badly he was hurt, and if he was even dead or alive at that point. Paul had told her that neither he nor the President was dead, but that was already a half hour previously. Things could have completely changed by the time she walked into the briefing room, and that scared her.

Walking over to her assigned seat, she waited quietly, and anxiously, for CJ Cregg to come up to the podium. People were milling around, some clustered together and talking in hushed tones. While she waited, her leg bounced, a subconscious nervous habit. As CJ finally appeared from the side of the room, looking worse for wear, her heart was in her throat.

“Hello everyone,” she started, her voice tired. “As you all now know, President Bartlet and Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman were shot tonight after the Town Hall Meeting in Rosslyn. This _was_ an attempt to assassinate the President, and Josh just happened to be in the line of fire. They are both being treated at George Washington General Hospital for the injuries they sustained. The President’s wounds are fairly superficial, a bullet entered and exited his side but he needs surgery to repair his abdomen and other internal organs.” She paused, looking at the papers in front of her. “Josh, on the other hand, is currently in surgery to repair a collapsed lung and a damaged artery. That will take at least twelve to fourteen hours; we’ll update you on his status in the morning.”

The cacophony of “CJ!” And “Over here!” Began. It was almost deafening. CJ pointed to Barbara Delaney from CNN and she stood up.

“When can we talk to the medical team?”

“Benjamin Keller, the chief surgeon, and Admiral Jarvis, the President’s personal physician, will be made available for a debriefing in a few hours.”

She pointed to Danny Concannon. “Has there been any discussion of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment?” Of course he had to get right to the point. There was never any beating around the bush with him.

“No.” She didn’t say anything else, most likely not wanting him to ask any follow up questions or skew her response in his story.

“Why hasn’t there been any discussion of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment?” He asked, pressing her anyway.

“Danny, as I said before, the President’s are relatively superficial.” She normally would have made a sarcastic or snide comment at him, but she was too exhausted and worried to care. “He’ll be out of surgery before morning, and he’s expected to make a full and speedy recovery.”

“Anything on the identity of the shooters?” Mary Blackwell from the Chicago Sun Times stood up.

“Not yet.” She shook her head.

Sara was frantically taking notes on her big, yellow legal pad, trying her hardest to keep up with everyone’s questions and write everything down at the same time. It was especially hard to concentrate at the task at hand because all she could think about was Josh. She felt like she was going to be sick, but somehow she held herself together. A collapsed lung and damage to the arteries were extremely serious. She wished with everything she had that she could be at the hospital then, even if she wasn’t able to see him, just be there. Aside from the fact that she had a giant crush on him, he had become one of her closest friends, and all she hoped was that he would make it out of this whole ordeal in one piece.

“I said, is there anything you _do_ know, is there anything you can tell us?” Arthur Leeds’ voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up expectantly, pen hovering over paper, waiting for CJ’s answer. She saw a dazed expression flash over the Press Secretary’s features as she patted her hand against her neck. This was the first time she had ever seen CJ falter.

“I’ll be back for a briefing in an hour and a half,” she seemingly came out of it. “Hopefully we’ll know more then.” With that she stepped off the podium, ignoring all of the questions being thrown at her and shouts of her name. Mostly everyone in the press pool stayed behind, looking over their notes and talking to one another about all of the new information they had just received.

Sara went back to her office in the Press Corps and tried to write. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she looked over her notes, nothing was coming to her. She must have stared at the blank document on her screen for at least twenty minutes.

The sound of her cellphone ringing startled her. Picking it up, she said hello.

“It’s me,” CJ’s voice came through on the other end of the phone.

“Oh God, CJ,” Sara breathed. “Are you alright? How is everyone else?”

“I’m as good as I can be right now,” she told her. “Everyone’s alright, considering. We were all sitting in the waiting room in the ER, but one of the doctors basically told us we were wasting our time sitting there. Sam, Toby, and I are back in the West Wing. You can come down here if you want.”

“No, it’s okay,” she pushed her glasses to the top of her head and rubbed her eyes. “I’m trying to write.”

“Oh, okay,” she said despondently.

After a pregnant pause, Sara asked, “How are they, really?”

CJ cleared her throat. “The President should be out of surgery soon. He’s going to have to take it easy for a while, but he’s going to be fine. Abbey has been on the doctor’s asses from the second she got here, unsurprisingly. She’s been getting the truth out of them.”

“And… Josh?”

“It’s bad, Sara. He already coded twice since he’s been on the table. They’re working really hard to keep him stabilized.” She put her hand over her mouth, the tears threatening to fall again. “He’s lost a lot of blood. They have no idea what his future is going to look like, when, or if, he gets out of surgery alive.”

“How’s Donna?”

“Absolutely shell shocked. Mrs. Landingham and Abbey have been taking turns sitting with her at the hospital. She hasn’t left since she got there.”

“I don’t blame her.” She wished that could have been her. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” She could hear CJ smile over the phone. “I’ll see you at the briefing.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Finally, alone at her desk, Sara let herself cry. For the President, for Josh, for everyone who had been involved in the shooting. Her body wracked with sobs as she thought about Josh, laying there helpless on the operating table, as the surgeons tried to save his life. It felt like there were rocks in her stomach, and despite her best efforts, her entire body was shaking. She was so scared for him it was almost painful.


	2. Someone Saved My Life Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of the Rosslyn shooting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to write!! I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> The chapter title comes from the Elton John song of the same name.

It was 1:30 AM, a half hour since the third press briefing of the night, during which CJ had told the reporters that authorities were now looking for three suspects, not two like they had previously stated, and that two of them had had guns and fired shots into the crowd from the building across the street. The third suspect had been a lookout of sorts, giving the two gunmen a signal just before they let the bullets fly.

Sara was sitting in CJ’s office with her and Toby. They were all exhausted beyond belief, but couldn’t bring themselves to go home, and there was no use for Toby and CJ to be at the hospital again until the President and/or Josh came out of surgery. The President’s surgery was fairly straightforward, at least according to Abbey, because the bullet had both entry and exit points. All that needed to be done was repairs to the outer abdomen walls on his left side and front, as well as the gunshot wounds themselves. Josh, on the other hand, would be in surgery for at least another nine hours, CJ had explained. The doctors had repaired the damage that had been done to his pulmonary artery, and were now going to work on repairing his collapsed lung and removing the bullet that was lodged in his chest.

“There was… so much blood,” Toby said stoically as he puffed on a cigar. “More than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Sara’s face twisted into a solemn frown. Just picturing Josh sitting there on the ground, the light fading out of his eyes as he slowly bled out into his own hands, made her sick to her stomach. Being the one who found Josh like that seemed to have really affected Toby. He was more morose and somber than he usually was.

“I almost fell over when I saw him,” he said. “Then we both would’ve had to be taken away in an ambulance.” He chuckled but there was no humor behind it.

“It still feels so surreal,” CJ said, her voice laced with bewilderment. “I know we’re all a little biased, but who the hell would want to kill the President?”

“Plenty of people,” Toby said matter of factly. “Pro-lifers, the Christian Right, anyone who’s a member of the NRA… I can go on.”

“Not necessary,” CJ told him. “We get it.”

Sara looked between the two of them, unsure of what to do or say next. Toby stared out the window, absentmindedly flicking ash from his cigar into a paper cup, and CJ picked at her fingernails.

“The Yankees played the Athletics last night,” Sara spoke directly to Toby, breaking the silence that had fallen in the room.

“I taped the game,” was all he said.

“Who’s pitching?” She asked him. This was one of the few times that she had actually spoken to Toby directly, and about something other than the West Wing or the President or just politics in general. In all honesty she was intimidated by him; he was gruff, terse, and often had no tolerance for anyone or anything, and he was also incredibly brilliant.

“Clemens, I think,” he rubbed his forehead.

“I was about to turn it on, but then…” she trailed off. “Paul called me.” He nodded solemnly.

“Does anyone want a drink?” CJ suddenly pulled an unopened bottle of scotch out from a drawer in her desk.

“Where the hell did you find that?” Sara asked.

“I gave you that last year for your birthday,” Toby said. “You still haven’t opened it?”

“I was saving it for a special occasion,” she smirked.

“And now is a special occasion?”

“Now’s as good a time as any…”

Toby rose from his chair, leaving the room. Several moments later, he came back with three tumblers. Wordlessly, he placed them on CJ’s desk. Opening the bottle with a _pop,_ she poured three fingers worth of the gold liquid into each of the glasses.

“To President Bartlet,” CJ raised her glass in a toast. Toby and Sara did the same.

“To Josh,” Sara added, and CJ and Toby nodded.

“I need suction! He’s still bleeding!” The doctor took his hands out of Josh’s chest cavity. A nurse rushed over and removed some of the fluid and blood surrounding the incision. “Watch the lung, remember he has a pneumothorax!” He put a hand back in, searching for the bullet itself and/or bullet fragments. “I can’t see anything, I need more suction!”

“Suction,” another nurse came up behind him.

“I can barely get my hand in between his ribs,” he groaned.

“He’s gonna need a blood transfusion,” one of the assistants said.

“You don’t think I know that, Mendes?” He snapped. “Get a blood transfusion started, or he’s gonna die. Again.”

The assistant rolled a big machine over and hooked it up to a line stemming off of Josh’s central port. She flipped a switch and the gears inside began to whir and turn, making the donated blood move from the IV bag through the thin tube, and into the Deputy Chief of Staff’s arm.

**********

The next morning, Sara's work phone ringing jolted her awake. She had, much to her embarrassment, slept in her office after having three helpings of scotch from CJ's bottle. 

"Hello?" she mumbled, lifting her head up from her desk. 

"He's out of surgery." It was CJ. She didn't have to explain any further, she knew she was talking about Josh. 

"How is he?" She sat up a little too quickly and felt a throbbing headache coming on. Next time, she would go home to sleep. 

"As good as one can be after almost dying," she quipped. "He's still being pumped with heavy-duty painkillers, so he's pretty out of it. The doctors are only letting certain people in, and only one or two at a time, so he doesn't get overwhelmed." 

"And the President?" 

"He's already trying to break out of the place," the Press Secretary told her. "He tried to wheel himself down the hallway to go see Josh again, but Abbey and Ron Butterfield put the kebosh on that." 

Sara laughed to herself and then said, "Thanks for calling, CJ." 

"No problem," she said. "Now go home and change out of the clothes you were wearing yesterday." 

With that, she hung up the phone and rubbed her tired eyes. A few minutes later, the phone on her desk rang again.

"Hello?" She figured it was CJ again, but it was Donna.

"He's been asking for you," Her voice was quiet, so she assumed she was still at the hospital.

"Who?" she asked dumbly.

"Josh," Donna told her.

"Josh?" she repeated. "Why has he been asking for me?!"

"Your guess is as good as mine..." She heard Donna's muffled voice talking to someone else, and then she spoke to her again. "He wants to talk to you."

Sara's heart was in her throat as she heard the static and shuffling of the phone being moved around. "Hi." His voice was hoarse and so soft she could barely hear him, probably from being intubated all night. Her heart broke for him.

"Hi Josh," she said, trying to stay calm. "How are you feeling?" That was a stupid question.

"Like I got ran over by a truck and repeatedly smacked with a two by four, at the same time." She could hear his breathing starting to get labored as he spoke. "I feel great." She smiled to herself, glad to know his self-deprecation was still in tact.

"I..." She didn't know what to say. What could she possibly say, "I'm glad you're alive"? "I'm sorry you almost died, I was scared I was going to get a phone call in the middle of the night saying that you did"?

"Still there?" he asked, after several moments of silence.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Listen, my mom just got here, and she's yelling at me to get off the phone." She swore she could hear his eyes rolling over the phone. "She's going on about conserving energy and saying that I'm gonna hyperventilate from trying to talk too much. I'm so glad I got to talk to you though."

"Me too." She wiped a tear that had escaped. "I'm glad you're okay." They said goodbye to one another, and Sara hung up the phone, hearing who she assumed to be Josh's mother screeching in the background. With that, she grabbed her things, and left the West Wing for the first time since the night before.


End file.
